


And When I am Alone, I Trace your Shape in the Air Beside Me

by PersonyPepper



Series: Geralt Whump Week 2019-2020 [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Geralt Whump Week (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Intimidation, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Understanding Jaskier | Dandelion, attempted physical intimidation, like really bad, lmao jaskier is Unfazed i love him, prompt: Ostracism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: “Geralt, what’s going on—”“You shouldn’t be following me.”“Is that why you’re so growly? We’ve had this discussion before, dear heart, I’m not—”“You’re human, and humans are easily killed.” An arm jots out up Jaskiser’s chest, cupping his neck and squeezing just barely in warning. “Easily.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Renfri | Shrike, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Renfri | Shrike - Relationship
Series: Geralt Whump Week 2019-2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084442
Comments: 14
Kudos: 238





	And When I am Alone, I Trace your Shape in the Air Beside Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and enjoy! Title’s from I Design Disasters by Robert Hallow and The Holy Men. Let me know what you thought!!
> 
> My tumblr's @persony-pepper, come say hi! <33 I rb witcher things and take geraskier writing prompts of all kinds.

Jaskier throws another twig into the fire, watching as the flames consume it in an instant. The sky above them shines down starry light, breeze mild in their summer months. He looks at his friend from across the fire, as tense as he’d seen him on that first day in Posada.

He’d been wary all day, grouchier than usual, even to Jaskier, who’d worn under his skin after years of travel. Jaskier tsks to himself and plays a slow progression over his lute, only to be distracted by a growl.

“Geralt?” The witcher’s eyes are trained on him, narrowed in irritation. He sets his lute back into its case. He may be a bard, a man of romance, but he’s no fool, especially not to his friend’s emotions.

“Talk to me, Geralt, what’s wrong?” The witcher’s snarls cease as he blinks, almost as if he was coming back to himself, lost in thought and instinct before. Geralt stares back into the fire, shoulders lined with uncomfortable tension.

Jaskier sighs and rises to his feet, approaching him and to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, lips parted with comforting words ready on his tongue.

Only, before he can speak them, his wrist is grabbed, none too carefully.

“Geralt, what’s going on—” 

“You shouldn’t be following me.” Jaskier huffs, sitting down beside his friend on the log they’ve managed to push closer to the fire.

“Is that why you’re so growly? We’ve had this discussion before, dear heart, I’m not—”

“You’re human,” Geralt growls, squeezing briefly at Jaskier’s wrist to make his point. Jaskier winces from the pain but makes no move to fight back, ever trusting of his witcher to not break him, “And humans are easily killed.” An arm jots out up Jaskiser’s chest, cupping his neck and squeezing just barely in warning. “ _ Easily _ .”

Jaskier huffs, eyes rolling at Geralt’s antics _. _ “I swear upon Melitele’s dangling tits Geralt, I will steal Roach and sell her to the lowest bidder if you keep trying to scare me away.” The witcher pauses before letting go of him, leaving Jaskier to rub his wrists idly as he notices the bruise upon it, stretching his shoulder.

“We’ve to talk. I’m not having this anymore.”

“No. Leave.” Geralt gets to his feet, to his bags, beginning to pack, “Or I will.”

Jaskier is a lover. A lover of all things fine and beautiful, a beholder of words as a weapon rather than a sword. This does not mean that he cannot  _ wield _ a sword. 

He walks on brisk feet and draws Geralt’s sword swiftly out of its sheath before pointing it at the witcher. Silver for monsters; the steel sword holds steadily in his hand.

“Sit down, Geralt.” His voice is perfectly even, his eyes cold as he regards his witcher, only to melt as Geralt looks back at him, his lips pulled up in a sneer but ultimately gives into sitting, legs crossed as he stared up at Jaskier. The bard carefully sheathes the sword before settling in front of his friend, a small smile on his face, not from victory, but from relief that he’ll finally get the man to express his troubles. Maybe.

“I’ve no idea why you’re being so… unlike yourself.” He looks into amber eyes, beautifully reflecting the fire dancing behind though, though they look so lackluster and dull. Jaskier frowns at the sight. “So you’re going to tell me. Talk to me, Geralt, what’s wrong?”

The crackling of flame fills the air between them, silence heavy. Something clicks in his witcher, though, and he sighs and relaxes, only it’s more of a collapsing, as if the weight of the Continent’s been on his shoulders and he’s letting himself succumb to it.

“I wanted you to leave on my accord,” he says, staring at the ground, oh so quietly as if he’s admitting it to himself rather than to Jaskier, “so you don’t leave when you find out.” Jaskier tilts his chin up with the tips of his fingers. 

“Find out what, my love?” Some part of his brain hopes that Geralt still believes that he only calls him such things because he calls others such things, because he’s a bard and a romantic, and not because Geralt is… special to him. He swallows, letting moments pass. Geralt pulls away from his fingers and stares somewhere behind him, looking, but seeing something else entirely, as if lost in a memory. “Geralt?”

He can barely hear his friend whisper out, his face bleached of any color, pale under the moonlight, “I’m a murderer, Jaskier.” He half chokes on it, forcing the words out of his throat, an admission of guilt that he hasn’t given anyone, most likely.

Jaskier sighs and leans back. “It’s hardly murder, Geralt, they  _ are _ monsters ruining lives, you only kill the mindless ones, too, not—” he’s cut off by the witcher grabbing his hand, eyes serious as they bore into him.

“No,” he whispers. Geralt glances down at his hand, as if he hadn’t realized he’d gripped him, letting go as if he’d been burnt. “I killed a woman, a girl.”

“Humans can be monstrous, too, Geralt, I’m sure—” 

“Godsdammit, Bard! I’m not a good man!” He’s nearly pleading with him in his outburst, wild eyes trained onto Jaskier, who’s shocked to silence, “She was  _ innocent _ , she was  _ good _ . Not those vile things that call themselves human, Jaskier.”

“Geralt, is this about—”

“Blaviken. Yes. It’s been five years till date,” He bites out, settling back against the log, eyes unfocused, “she said, ‘More and more, I find monsters wherever I go,’ and there I was, sitting in front of her right there, letting her pour me a beer.”

Jaskier gently takes Geralt’s hand into his own. “Killed her and her men,  _ mindlessly _ . Good men, fighting for the right thing, murdered without a thought,” the witcher rumbles out. “The lesser evil,” he laughs, dry and pained, “there is no lesser evil as I walk the Earth, Jaskier, I  _ am _ all things evil, a murder of innocents.”

The bard traces over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, taking time in absorbing the information. “And this is why you want me gone? So you can’t hurt me? Or you think I’ll leave because I’ll think less of you?”

“Both,” The witcher mutters, “Want you gone before I can hurt you. Before you realize that I truly am the monster I’m accused of being.”

Jaskier nods to himself, still staring at Geralt’s palm in his hands, his one hand spanning the both of his.

“What was her name?” He asks finally, looking up at Geralt.

The witcher’s breaths turn into heavy half-sighs before hitching, his voice raspy as he speaks a reverent, “Renfri.” Jaskier hums, his hands gently working over the callouses and scars on Geralt’s skin.

“You loved her.” 

Geralt takes in a sharp breath, before nodding yes, accompanying it with, “I did.”

“We should visit her grave. And make peace with Blaviken, my friend. Because I know you have made mistakes, I too have blood on my hands, and whether it is innocent or not is not of matter.”

“I can’t.”   
  


“Why?” 

“I’m not allowed back to Blaviken, Jaskier. Ostracised. Killed if set eyes upon.” Jaskier sighs, moving to sit by Geralt, his head resting on the man’s chest, the other still holding his hand.

“Then finish her work, Geralt.” His voice is fierce. He knows of Renfri of Lilit, of her story and her pain. He knows that his witcher has done her wrong and the thought of her will trouble his friend forever unless he kills that horrid mage. His witcher gently runs his fingers through his hair.

“I will, Jaskier. But you still must leave, I can’t los—” 

“You idiot of a man, I love you, I will not leave you, no matter how afraid you are of yourself.” Geralt’s eyes widen as he stares down at him, leaning back. Jaskier sighs, pulling away from him, “and I know I’m no warrior princess that you’ll ever love back, Renfri was a force of fierce fire, and you will love her till you die, I know. I don’t ask for you to love me back, Geralt, just don’t… push me away. I know what I signed up for when I began traveling with you, I’m a grown man—” 

“I’m afraid,” Geralt cuts in, so sudden it puts Jaskier’s stream of words to a halt, “Of loving you. I don’t want you to— like, like Renfri, I can’t, I’ll…” his voice fills with anguish, “I’ll  _ die _ , Jaskier.”

Jaskier stares up at him, shock and warmth in his stomach, mixed with an equal amount of worry and heartbreak. He stands and lays out their bedrolls side by side before going back to Geralt, his arm held out. “Come on, dear witcher,” he says quietly, “we’ll sleep now. And as we hunt for Stregerbor, I’ll teach you to love again.” Geralt wordlessly takes his hand after a moment and follows him to the bedrolls.

As Jaskier dozes into slumber, amber eyes still looking into his own, he makes their hands are kept intertwined. 


End file.
